


Give Me a Reason To Love You

by AdorabloodthirstyKitty



Series: AntiDark [12]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:25:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdorabloodthirstyKitty/pseuds/AdorabloodthirstyKitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anti avoids Dark after Fischbach returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me a Reason To Love You

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blessed With a Curse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6817678) by [GalaxyGhosty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty), [Quintessentia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quintessentia/pseuds/Quintessentia). 



> based on chapters 18 and 19 of bwac

The morning after Fischbach steals Dark from you, you pull away. You loosen your grip on his hand over your abdomen, force yourself away from the solid warmth of his body molded to yours, and you leave him. For days you keep your distance, smoking outside and searching for new victims alone. Silence holds your tongue hostage, and you immerse yourself in the search, the hunt. You don't allow yourself to think back on the nightmares, the images of Dark's eyes bleeding and melting from their sockets, the hard, cold glare Fischbach gave, Dark’s face pulled into a look of disgust with no hint of him hiding behind those dark eyes.

You can feel Dark's mood darken the longer you avoid him. His eyes are dark, much like Fischbach's had been when he'd glared from his spot tied to the chair, though there's still that light shining in his pupils. You can feel his annoyance mounting, filling the room like thick fog, dark and suffocating.

Almost a week later he's sitting on the bed as you come back in from another day of searching, tossing your notes on the bed as you grab your cigarettes.

"The fuck is this?" he growls, his annoyance obvious in the way his words snap out of his sharp jaw.

"My next kill," you respond, not stopping to explain or speak any further as you head toward the balcony. A cigarette hangs from your lips as you open the glass door, Dark’s voice cutting through the quiet like a sledgehammer.

"Shut the door," he growls, deep voice making the air hum around you as you stand with your back to him, hands still on the door. He hisses, angrier, "Anti, I'm fucking serious."

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, his brows drawn low and teeth barred.

"Come back here."

You feel the corners of your mouth pull up, the sharp tone all Dark. No hint of his body's host shines out from the darkness of his eyes, the desperation and anger pulling his muscles taut. You smile, just barely, and step outside.

You hear the bedside lamp shatter from inside, smiling idly as you light your smoke and take a long drag, nicotine and smoke curling down your throat and into your lungs.

-

The next day you wake later than usual, body forcing you to sleep in after almost a week of a couple hours sleep at most. You blink your eyes open, rubbing sleep from your good eye as you become aware of your surroundings, the arms wrapped around you and the eyes watching you intently.

Dark stares as you sit up, pulling away from his firm embrace. His gaze is soft, silent as he stares. You don't allow the softness of his eyes or the gentleness of his hold to keep you, craning your neck to either side with a pop and a deep sigh before climbing out of the warm sheets and warmer embrace, padding to the bathroom without a word for a shower. Dark is gone by the time you step back out, and you push down the small part of you that's disappointed in the absence.

-

You stay in the room for the most part, pulling on jeans and a tank top before digging around Dark's bag and pulling out a hoodie. Just the smell calms you, and you pull it over your head and stalk toward the bed, turning the tv on and sitting back against the headboard as you await Dark's return.

Your phone buzzes in your hoodie pocket, pulling your gaze away from the stupid bullshit on tv as you turn your attention to the device.

_[Dark]: Just took out the owner of a convenience store you need anything?_

You look back to the tv, debating if you should ignore him or not before tapping out a reply.

 _Don’t text me_  
_Also you better have cleaned up after yourself_

You shove the phone back into the pocket of Dark's hoodie, twirling a drawstring through your fingers as you wait for his return.

You try to pay attention to the asinine humans on the screen but your own thoughts creep to the forefront of your mind, Dark's soft gaze from this morning prominent among the swirling thoughts, all centered around him.

You've kept your distance from Dark the past week. Not because you're afraid that Fischbach will wrestle control from Dark again, not because you can't stand Dark's mood change, annoyance settling in his gut. You're staying away because you know you're getting attached. His saccharine words and possessive kisses are getting to you, the way he curls around you in sleep and the way his touch and embrace no longer revolts you. He's seeping in and making a home somewhere in your chest, and although you know that he doesn't 'love' you, and that he's just as likely to kill you as he is to fuck you, you know that he's changed you. Somewhere along the way his kisses no longer revolted you. Somewhere in these past two months his touch and voice have stopped turning your lips up in a sneer, his sweet words have no longer been met with glares or eye rolls.

You fiddle with the drawstring of his hoodie, pooled around your small shoulders and slim frame. His smell is etched into the fabric and it makes something like calm settle over you as you stare at the screen.

You don't love him. You don't even like him. Yet here you sit with his clothing settled over sharp shoulders, his sharp smile and bright eyes etched into your brain.

You shut off your mind and go back to watching tv.

-

“Present,” Dark drawls as he drops the cigarette boxes by your feet on the bed, your eyes not leaving the tv screen as Dark stalks toward a chair across the room, a six-pack in hand.

You haven't taken Dark's hoodie off, still twirling the drawstring idly around your finger as you wait for Dark to notice.

You know the exact moment he does, because the beer he'd been sipping falls from between his fingers, a muffled _thump_ and the sound of alcohol sloshing onto the carpet.

You don't react, don't even flinch. Dark is silent for a beat before he murmurs, hope already threading through his voice at the sight of you in his clothing. “Baby?”

No answer. You can hear the amusement in his voice, the smile on his face as he speaks again. “Is that my jacket?”

“Do you really have nothing better to do than stare at me?” is your reply, your gaze finally sliding to Dark for a brief moment before turning back to the tv, his smile annoying and relieving all at once. “Or are you trying to drink yourself into a stupor?”

“You’re prettier to look at than that garbage you’re watching,” Dark snips back playfully, and you can feel his smile growing as you roll your eyes in response. “You’re prettier than anything I’ve ever seen.”

You don’t respond, breathing a little easier when some of the tension that had been building over the last week dissipates. You hear Dark pull off his shoes, the sound of his jeans sliding off his hips. You leave the bed before Dark even takes a step toward it, sitting at the kitchen table to go through your notes and continue to avoid Dark. Dark climbs into bed, silent and brooding. You grab your keys and head for the door, only looking back as you close the door behind you. Dark's eyes are closed, already falling asleep as you shut the door behind you and head out.

-

 _“I got your fifth and seventh chakras,”_ Dark murmurs over the phone, sounding more tired than you've ever heard him.  _“I’ll bring them back to you now. That should leave three for you, right?”_

“Why are you calling me?” you ask boredly, still reading through notes and scrolling through any information you can find on future victims on McLoughlin’s phone.

 _“You told me not to text you,”_ Dark replies, his voice not holding a shred of the glee it usually does after a kill. _“So I thought I’d call you instead.”_

“I’d rather you text me,” you reply shortly, not wanting to make him think you've forgiven him as your thumb hovers over the 'end call' button. “At least that way, I don’t have to listen to you.”

You hang up and set the phone aside, turning back to your research as you wait for him to return home.

-

Dark returns soon after the call, blood-soaked and silent. You don't bother to leave the room, staying seated against the headboard and scrolling through your information, watching out of the corner of your eye when he isn't looking. He puts the body parts in the cooler, the enchantment soon encompassing them to keep them fresh. You feel his eyes on you as he goes to his duffel, pulling out clothes and heading to the shower to wash away any viscera or blood still stuck to him.

He steps out clean and blood-free twenty minutes later, crimson hair still dripping as he stares, shuffling toward the bed with bowed shoulders. He's tired, more tired than he's ever been after a kill. He doesn't brag, doesn't go on and on about the blood and gore with bright eyes and a faraway look, smile vicious and eager. He just stumbles toward the bed, where you continue to scroll through names and information of possible victims on your phone.

He pauses as he reaches the bed, probably waiting for you to leave again. But you're tired of moving. You're tired of slipping out of the room for the better part of the day, tired of getting up and moving away whenever he comes close. You're tired of being away from him, from his shining eyes and endless praises. Tired of stepping away from him whenever he gets close, tired of the silence and tension so thick in the room you could suffocate.

You're tired of being away from him. So when he sits beside you, you don't pull away. When his shoulder brushes yours lightly as he sits beside you, you stay. His hand slips into yours, fingers fitting easily between your own, and you make no move to reclaim your hand or pull away.

The bed shifts, dipping as Dark scoots close enough to press his shoulder to your own. The feeling is familiar, and as you continue scrolling, eyes never leaving the small screen of McLoughlin's phone, you tilt it just enough for Dark to see, silent as you continue your research with Dark's hand clasped in yours as he watches you work.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter title from Glory Box by Portishead


End file.
